JOSEPH  FENNEL!* 

PICTURES 

OF  THE. 

PANAMA  CANAL 


J .  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 

<• 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


JOSEPH  PENNELL'S  PICTURES 
OF    THE    PANAMA    CANAL 


FOURTH  EDITION 


Life  of  James 
McNeill  Whistler 

BY  ELIZABETH  R.  AND  JOSEPH  PENNELL 

'T'HE  Pennells  have  thoroughly 
revised  the  material  in  their 
Authorized  Life  and  added  much 
new  matter,  which  for  lack  of 
space  they  were  unable  to  in- 
corporate in  the  elaborate  two- 
volume  edition  now  out  of 
print.  Fully  illustrated  with 
96  plates  reproduced  from 
Whistler's  works,  more  than  half 
reproduced  for  first  time. 

Crown  8vo.,  fifth  and  revised  edition. 
Whistler  binding,  deckle  edge. 

$3.50  net. 
Three  quarters  grain  levant,  $7.50  net. 


JOSEPH  PENNELL/S  PICTURES 
OF  THE   PANAMA   CANAL 

REPRODUCTIONS  OF  A  SERIES  OF 
LITHOGRAPHS  MADE  BY  HIM  ON  THE 
ISTHMUS  OF  PANAMA,  JANUARY— MARCH, 
1912,  TOGETHER  WITH  IMPRESSIONS 
AND  NOTES  BY  THE  ARTIST 


PHILADELPHIA  AND  LONDON 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY  JOSEPH  PENNEEL 
PUBLISHED.  SEPTEMBER,  1912 


PRINTED  BT  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPACT 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON  SQUARE  PKK88 

PHILADELPHIA,  U.S.A. 


S  4 


TO 
J.     B.     BISHOP 

SECRETARY  OF  THE  ISTHMIAN 
CANAL  COMMISSION 

WHO 

MADE  IT  POSSIBLE 
FOR  ME  TO  DRAW 
THESE  LITHOGRAPHS 

AND 

WHO  WAS  ALSO  GOOD 
ENOUGH  TO  ACCEDE 
TO  MY  REQUEST  AND 
READ  AND  CORRECT 
THE  PROOFS  FOR  ME 


INTRODUCTION— MY  LITHOGRAPHS  OF  THE  PANAMA  CANAL 

THE  idea  of  going  to  Panama  to  make  lithographs  of  the  Canal 
was  mine.  I  suggested  it,  and  the  Century  Magazine  and  Illus- 
trated London  News  offered  to  print  some  of  the  drawings  I  might 
make. 

Though  I  suggested  the  scheme  a  couple  of  years  ago,  it  was  not 
until  January,  1912,  that  I  was  able  to  go — and  then  I  was  afraid 
it  was  too  late — afraid  the  work  was  finished  and  that  there  would 
be  nothing  to  see,  for  photographs  taken  a  year  or  eighteen  months 
before,  showed  some  of  the  locks  built  and  their  gates  partly  in  place. 

Still  I  started,  and  after  nearly  three  weeks  of  voyaging  found, 
one  January  morning,  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  ahead  of  the  steamer, 
a  mountainous  country,  showing  deep  valleys  filled  with  mist,  like 
snow  fields,  as  I  have  often  seen  them  from  Montepulciano  look- 
ing over  Lake  Thrasymene,  in  Italy.  Beyond  were  higher  peaks, 
strange  yet  familiar,  Japanese  prints,  and  as  we  came  into  the 
harbor  the  near  hills  and  distant  mountains  were  silhouetted  with 
Japanese  trees  and  even  the  houses  were  Japanese,  and  when  we 
at  length  landed,  the  town  was  full  of  character  reminiscent  of  Spain, 
yet  the  local  character  came  out  in  the  Cathedral,  the  tower  of  which 
—a  pyramid — was  covered  with  a  shimmering,  glittering  mosaic  of 
pearl  oyster  shells.  The  people,  not  Americans,  were  primitive,  and 
the  children,  mostly  as  in  Spain,  were  not  bothered  with  clothes. 

I  followed  my  instinct,  which  took  me  at  once  to  the  great 
swamp  near  the  town  of  Mount  Hope,  where  so  many  of  De  Lesseps' 
plans  lie  buried.  Here  are  locomotives,  dredges,  lock-gates,  huge 
bulks  of  iron,  great  wheels,  nameless,  shapeless  masses — half  under 
water,  half  covered  with  vines — the  end  of  a  great  work.  I  came 
back  to  Colon  by  the  side  of  the  French  Canal,  completed  and 
working  up  to,  I  believe,  Gatun  Lock  and  Dam,  and  spent  the  after- 
noon in  the  American  town,  every  house  Japanese  in  feeling,  French 
or  American  in  construction,  screened  with  black  wire  gauze,  divided 
by  white  wood  lines — most  decorative — and  all  shaded  by  a  forest  of 
palms.  Through  these  wandered  well-made  roads,  and  on  them  were 
walking  and  driving  well-made  Americans.  There  were  no  mosqui- 

7 


toes,  no  flies,  no  smells,  none  of  the  usual  adjuncts  of  a  tropical  town. 

At  the  end  of  the  town  was  a  monument,  a  nondescript 
Columbus,  facing  nowhere,  at  his  feet  an  Indian;  but  it  seemed  to 
me,  if  any  monument  was  wanted  at  Colon,  it  should  be  a  great 
light-house  or  a  great  statue  towering  aloft  in  the  harbor,  a  memorial 
to  the  men  who,  French  and  American,  have  made  the  Canal. 

Next  day  I  started  across  the  Continent  to  Panama,  for  I  learned 
the  Government  headquarters  were  there,  and,  until  I  had  seen  the 
officials,  I  did  not  know  if  I  should  be  allowed  to  work  or  even  stay 
on  the  Isthmus.  But  at  Gatun  I  got  off  the  train,  determining  to  do 
all  I  could  before  I  was  stopped — as  I  was  quite  sure  I  should  be.  I 
saw  the  tops  of  the  locks  only  a  few  hundred  yards  away,  and,  turn- 
ing my  back  on  the  stunning  town  piled  up  on  the  hillside,  walked 
over  to  them;  from  a  bridge  bearing  a  sign  that  all  who  used  it  did 
so  at  their  own  risk  I  looked  down  into  a  yawning  gulf  stretching 
to  right  and  left,  the  bottom  filled  with  crowds  of  tiny  men  and  tiny 
trains — all  in  a  maze  of  work;  to  the  right  the  gulf  reached  to  a 
lake,  to  the  left  to  mighty  gates  which  mounted  from  the  bottom  to 
my  feet.  Overhead,  huge  iron  buckets  flew  to  and  fro,  great  cranes 
raised  or  lowered  huge  masses  of  material.  As  I  looked,  a  bell  rang, 
the  men  dropped  their  tools,  and  lines  of  little  figures  marched  away, 
or  climbed  wooden  stairs  and  iron  ladders  to  the  surface.  The  engines 
whistled,  the  buckets  paused,  everything  stopped  instantly,  save  that 
from  the  depths  a  long  chain  came  quickly  up,  and  clinging  to  the 
end  of  it,  as  Cellini  would  have  grouped  them,  were  a  dozen  men — a 
living  design — the  most  decorative  motive  I  have  ever  seen  in  the 
Wonder  of  Work.  I  could  not  have  imagined  it,  and  in  all  the  time 
I  was  on  the  Isthmus  I  never  saw  it  but  once  again.  For  a  second 
only  they  were  posed,  and  then  the  huge  crane  swung  the  group  to 
ground  and  the  design  fell  to  pieces  as  they  dropped  off. 

Across  the  bridge  was  a  telephone  station  and  beyond  and  below 
it  the  great  approaches  to  the  locks  along  which  electric  locomotives 
will  draw  the  ships  that  pass  through.  There  was  a  subject, 
and  I  tackled  it  at  once.  In  the  distance  the  already  filling  lake— 
among  islands,  but  the  highland  still  above  the  water,  dotting  it, 
crowned  with  palms  and  strange  trees;  dredgers  slowly  moved,  native 

8 


canoes  paddled  rapidly,  over  all  hovered  great  birds.  To  the  right 
was  the  long  line  of  the  French  Canal,  almost  submerged,  stretch- 
ing to  the  distance,  against  which,  blue  and  misty  and  flat,  were 
strange-shaped  mountains,  outlined  with  strange-shaped  trees. 
Bridges  like  those  of  Hiroshigi  connected  island  with  island  or  with 
the  mainland.  It  was  perfect,  the  apotheosis  of  the  Wonder  of  Work, 
and  as  I  looked  the  whole  rocked  as  with  an  earthquake — and  then 
another.  I  was  dragged  into  the  hut  as  showers  of  stones  rattled 
on  the  roof  as  blast  after  blast  went  off  near  by.  Soon  people  in 
authority  came  up — I  supposed  to  stop  me;  instead  it  was  only  to  show 
pleasure  that  I  found  their  work  worth  drawing.  These  men  were  all 
Americans,  all  so  proud  of  their  part  in  the  Canal,  and  so  strong  and 
healthy — most  of  them  trained  and  educated,  I  knew  as  soon  as  they 
opened  their  mouths — the  greatest  contrast  to  the  crowd  on  the 
steamer,  who  now  were  all  tamely  following  a  guide  and  listening  to 
what  they  could  neither  understand  nor  see  during  their  only  day 
ashore.  These  engineers  and  workmen  are  the  sort  of  Americans 
worth  knowing,  and  yet  I  did  not  see  any  golf  links  at  Gatun.  The 
day  was  spent  in  that  telephone  box  and  on  the  Spillway  of  the  Dam 
— a  semicircle  of  cyclopean  concrete,  backed  by  a  bridge  finer  than 
Hokusai  ever  imagined,  yet  built  to  carry  the  huge  engines  that  drag 
the  long  trains  of  dirt  and  rock  across  it,  to  make  the  dam.  The  dam, 
to  me,  was  too  big  and  too  vague  to  draw.  And  all  this  is  the  work 
of  my  countrymen,  and  they  are  so  proud  of  their  work.  Yet  the 
men  who  have  done  this  great  work  will  tell  you  that  we  owe  much 
to  the  French,  and  that  if  the  engineers  and  the  Commission  at 
Panama  had  not  the  Government,  with  unlimited  men  and  money, 
behind  them,  and  the  discoveries  in  sanitary  science  of  which  the 
French  were  ignorant,  we,  too,  would  have  failed.  They  tell  you, 
and  show  you  how,  the  French  worked  on  the  Canal  right  across  the 
Isthmus,  and  we  are  carrying  out  the  great  project  they  were  unable 
to  complete.  And  we  have  won  the  admiration  of  the  world. 

The  sanitary  problem  is  solved,  but  they  tell  you  under  the 
French,  fever  carried  off  a  man  for  every  tie  that  was  laid  on  the 
Panama  Railroad.  This  is  a  legend,  but  a  true  story  is,  that  the 
French  cared  so  little  for  their  lives  that  with  every  shipload  of 

9 


machinery  came  boxes  of  champagne,  and  those  who  received  them 
asked  their  friends  to  dinner — finished  the  bottles — and  were  buried 
in  the  empty  box  in  the  morning.  Now  there  is  no  fever  in  the 
Canal  Zone,  but  there  is  plenty  of  drink  in  and  outside  of  it,  but,  I 
am  told,  "  indulged  in  with  wonderful  moderation."  I  certainly 
never  saw  an  American  under  the  influence  of  it. 

In  the  evening  a  ride  of  two  hours  took  me  over  the  thirty 
miles  to  Panama — one  of  the  last  passengers  over  the  old  line  of  the 
Panama  Railway,  now  buried  under  the  waters  of  the  growing  lake. 
From  the  railroad  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the  primeval  forest,  the 
tropical  jungle,  which  I  had  never  believed  in,  never  believed  that  it 
could  not  be  penetrated  save  with  an  axe  or  a  machete;  but  it  is  so, 
and  the  richness  of  it,  the  riot  of  it,  the  variety  of  it,  is  incredible  and 
endless.  The  train  puffed  along,  in  that  time-taking  fashion  of  the 
tropics  I  should  soon  be  familiar  with,  passing  points  of  view  I 
made  notes  of,  for  first  impressions  are  for  me  always  the  best, 
and  one  trip  like  this  gives  me  more  ideas  than  days  of  personal 
pointing  out.  Finally  Panama  was  reached  in  the  dark;  all  I  saw 
was  a  great  hill  lit  up  with  rows  of  lights,  one  above  the  other,  in 
the  night. 

The  day  had  not  been  hot,  the  sky  was  not  blue  or  black — it  was 
white,  and  filled  with  white  clouds,  though  they  were  dark  against  it. 
There  was  no  glare — and  I  had  forgotten  my  sketching  umbrella;  but 
I  never  needed  it.  So  far  as  I  know,  there  is  always  a  breeze — it  is 
never  really  hot  in  the  day — and  as  soon  as  the  sun  sets  the  trade 
wind  rises—  if  it  has  not  been  blowing  all  day — and  I  could  always 
sleep  at  night.  It  is  all  so  unlike  other  hot  countries — but,  then, 
Panama  is  unlike  other  places:  the  sun  rises  and  sets  in  the  Pacific, 
and  the  city  of  Panama,  though  on  the  Pacific,  is  east  of  Colon,  on 
the  Atlantic. 

There  was  not  a  smell,  or  a  mosquito,  or  a  fly  on  Ancon  Hill, 
but  over  it  all  was  the  odor  of  petroleum,  with  which  the  streams 
and  marshes  of  the  whole  zone  are  sprayed  almost  daily;  and  this 
has  made  the  Canal  and  saved  the  workers. 

Next  morning  I  went  to  the  Administration  Building  and  pre- 
sented my  letters,  though  I  did  not  know  if  I  should  be  allowed  to 
10 


draw.  But  it  seemed  that  everything  had  been  arranged  for  me  by 
the  Commission,  who,  it  also  seemed,  had  been  doing  nothing  for 
weeks  but  waiting  my  coming.  I  was  clothed,  fed,  taken  about  in 
motor  cars  and  steam  launches,  given  passes  on  the  railroad,  and 
finally  turned  loose  to  go  where  I  wanted  and  draw  what  I  liked— 
and  if  anything  happened  or  did  not  happen  I  was  just  to  telephone 
to  headquarters. 

The  following  day,  donning  my  khaki,  which  I  wore  only  once, 
and  pocketing  my  pass  and  some  oranges,  I  started  for  the  locks  at 
Pedro  Miguel — pronounced,  in  American,  Peter  Megil,  just  as 
Miraflores  is  called  Millflowers.  We  were  all  down,  had  breakfast, 
and  off  in  the  train — a  jim-crow  one — before  the  sun  was  up,  and  at 
Pedro  Miguel  station  I  found  myself  one  of  a  horde  of  niggers,  Greeks, 
Hindoos,  Slovaks,  Spaniards,  Americans  and  engineers,  bound  for 
the  lock,  half  a  mile  away.  Here  I  went  down  to  the  bottom  to  get 
a  drawing  of  the  great  walls  that  lead  up  to  the  great  gates,  now 
nearly  finished.  I  had  come  at  exactly  the  right  time.  These  walls 
are  surmounted  with  great  arches  and  buttresses — the  most  dec- 
orative subject,  the  most  stupendous  motive  I  have  ever  seen— 
almost  too  great  to  draw.  Unlike  my  experiences  of  a  lifetime  at 
other  Government  works,  I  was  asked  for  no  permit.  I  was  allowed 
to  go  where  I  wanted,  draw  what  I  liked;  when  any  attention  was  paid 
to  me,  it  was  to  ask  what  I  was  working  for — give  me  a  glass  of  ice 
water — precious,  out  of  the  breeze  at  the  bottom  of  a  lock — offer  to 
get  me  a  photograph  or  make  one,  to  suggest  points  of  view,  or 
tell  me  to  clear  out  when  a  blast  was  to  be  fired.  And  the  interest  of 
these  Americans  in  my  work  and  in  their  work  was  something  I 
had  never  seen  before.  A  man  in  huge  boots,  overalls  and  ragged 
shirt,  an  apology  for  a  hat,  his  sleeves  up  to  his  shoulders,  proved 
himself  in  a  minute  a  graduate  of  a  great  school  of  engineering,  and 
proved  as  well  his  understanding  of  the  importance  of  the  work  I 
was  trying  to  do,  and  his  regret  that  most  painters  could  not  see  the 
splendid  motives  all  about;  and  the  greatest  compliment  I  ever  re- 
ceived came  from  one  of  these  men,  who  told  me  my  drawings 
"  would  work." 

Day  after  day  it  was  the  same — everything,  including  government 

11 


hotels  and  labor  trains,  open  to  me.  The  only  things  to  look  out  for 
were  the  blasts,  the  slips  of  dirt  in  the  cut,  and  the  trains,  which 
rushed  and  switched  about  without  any  reference  to  those  who  might 
get  in  front  of  them.  If  one  got  run  over,  as  was  not  usual;  or 
blown  up,  which  was  unusual;  or  malaria,  which  few  escaped 
among  the  workmen,  there  were  plenty  of  hospitals,  lots  of  nurses 
and  sufficient  doctors.  Each  railroad  switch  was  attended  by  a  little 
darkey  with  a  big  flag;  of  one  of  whom  it  was  said  he  was  seen  to  be 
asleep,  with  his  head  on  the  rails  one  day.  The  engineer  of  an 
approaching  dirt  train  actually  pulled  up,  and  he  was  kicked  awake 
and  asked  wThy  he  was  taking  a  nap  there.  The  boy  replied  he  was 
"  'termined  no  train  go  by,  boss,  widout  me  knowin'  it";  and  of 
another  who,  awaking  suddenly  and  seeing  half  a  train  past  his 
switch,  pulled  it  open  and  wrecked  all  the  trains,  tracks  and  switches 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile;  or  the  third,  a  Jamaican,  a  new  hand, 
who,  being  told  he  was  not  to  let  a  train  go  by,  promptly  signalled 
a  locomotive  to  come  on,  and  when  he  was  hauled  up,  smilingly  said: 
"  Dat  wan't  no  train  wat  yer  tole  me  to  stop;  dat's  a  enjine." 

Drawing  had  other  interesting  episodes  connected  with  it,  as 
when  I  sat  at  work  in  Culebra  Cut  the  leading  man  of  a  file  of  nig- 
gers, carrying  on  his  head  a  wooden  box,  would  approach,  stop  beside 
me  and  look  at  the  drawing.  As  I  happened  to  look  up  I  would  notice 
the  box  was  labelled,  Explosives,  Highly  dangerous.  Then,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  he  and  the  rest  of  the  gang  would  stumble  along 
over  the  half -laid  ties,  slippery  boulders  and  through  the  mud,  trying 
to  avoid  the  endless  trains  and  balance  the  boxes  on  their  heads  at  the 
same  time.  I  must  say,  when  I  read  the  legend  on  the  box  the  sen- 
sation was  peculiar.  They  tell  you,  too,  that  when  President  Taft 
came  down  to  the  Cut  all  dynamiting  gangs  were  ordered  out;  but 
one  gang  of  blacks  was  forgotten,  and  as  the  train  with  the  President 
and  Colonel  Goethals  in  it  passed,  the  leader  cheered  so  hard  that  he 
dropped  his  box,  which  somehow  didn't  go  off.  It  was  interesting, 
too,  when  one  had  been  working  steadily  for  some  time,  to  find  one- 
self surrounded,  on  getting  up,  by  little  flags,  to  announce  that  the 
whole  place  had  been  mined  and  should  not  be  approached;  or  to 
find  oneself  entangled  in  a  network  of  live  wires  ready  to  touch  off 

12 


the  blasts  from  hundreds  of  yards  away,  and  to  remember  that  I  was 
behind  a  boulder  about  to  be  blown  to  pieces,  and  might  be  over- 
looked ;  or  to  be  told  I  had  better  get  out,  as  they  were  ready  to  blast, 
after  a  white  man  had  got  done  chucking  from  one  rock,  to  a  black 
man  on  another,  sticks  of  melanite,  as  the  easiest  way  of  getting  them 
to  him ;  or  ramming  in,  with  long  poles,  charges  so  big  that  trains,  steam 
shovels  and  tracks  had  to  be  moved  to  keep  them  from  being  "shot 
up."  I  always  kept  out  of  the  way  as  far  as  possible  after  the 
day  at  Bas  Obispo  when,  standing  some  hundreds  of  yards  from 
a  blast  watching  the  effect  of  showers  of  rocks  falling  like  shells  in 
the  river,  I  heard  wild  yells,  and,  looking  up,  saw  a  rock  as  big  as  a 
foot-ball  sailing  toward  me.  I  have  heard  one  can  see  shells  coming 
and  dodge  them.  I  know  now  that  this  is  so,  though  I  had  to  drop 
everything  and  roll  to  do  it.  But  I  don't  like  it;  and  accidents  do 
happen,  and  there  are  hospitals  all  across  the  Isthmus  with  men,  to 
whom  accidents  have  happened,  in  them.  But  nothing  happened 
to  me.  I  did  not  get  malaria  or  fever,  or  bitten  or  run  over.  I  was 
very  well  all  the  time — and  I  walked  in  the  sun  and  worked  in  the 
sun,  and  sat  in  the  swamps  and  the  bottoms  of  locks  and  at  the  edge 
of  the  dam,  and  nothing  but  drawings  happened;  but  I  should  not 
advise  others  to  try  these  things,  nor  to  get  too  near  steam  shovels, 
which  "  pick  up  anything,  from  an  elephant  to  a  red -bug,"  but  some- 
times drop  a  ton  rock;  nor  play  around  near  track-lifters  and  dirt- 
train  emptiers — for  the  things  are  small  respecters  of  persons.  But 
most  people  do  not  get  hurt,  and  I  never  met  anyone  who  wanted 
to  leave;  and  I  believe  the  threat  to  send  the  men  home  broke  the 
only  strike  on  the  Canal. 

I  did  not  go  to  Panama  to  study  engineering — which  I  know 
nothing  about;  or  social  problems — which  I  had  not  time  to  master; 
or  Central  American  politics — which  we  are  in  for;  but  to  draw  the 
Canal  as  it  is,  and  the  drawings  are  done. 

I  was  there  at  the  psychological  moment,  and  am  glad  I  went. 
It  is  not  my  business  to  answer  the  question :  When  will  the  Canal 
be  opened? — though  they  say  it  will  be  open  within  a  year. 

Will  the  dam  stand?    Those  who  have  built  it  say  so. 

Wrhich  is  better,  a  sea  level  or  a  lock?  The  lock  canal  is  built. 

13 


I  did  not  bother  myself  about  these  things,  nor  about  lengths 
and  breadths  and  heights  and  depths.  I  went  to  see  and  draw  the 
Canal,  and  during  all  the  time  I  was  there  I  was  afforded  every 
facility  for  seeing  the  construction  of  the  Panama  Canal,  and  from 
my  point  of  view  it  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world;  and  I 
have  tried  to  express  this  in  my  drawings  at  the  moment  before  it 
was  opened,  for  when  it  is  opened,  and  the  water  turned  in,  half 
the  amazing  masses  of  masonry  will  be  beneath  the  waters  on  one 
side  and  filled  in  with  earth  on  the  other,  and  the  picturesqueness  will 
have  vanished.  The  Culebra  Cut  will  be  finer,  and  from  great 
steamers  passing  through  the  gorge,  worth  going  15,000  miles,  as  I 
have  done,  to  see.  But  I  saw  it  at  the  right  time,  and  have  tried  to 
show  what  I  saw.  And  it  is  American — the  work  of  my  countrymen. 

JOSEPH  PENNELL 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  ILLUSTRATIONS    BEGIN    WITH    COLON  AND   PROCEED   IN 
REGULAR  SEQUENCE  ACROSS  THE  ISTHMUS  TO  PANAMA. 

I  COLON:  THE  AMERICAN  QUARTER 

II  MOUNT  HOPE 

III  GATUN:  DINNER  TIME 

IV  AT  THE  BOTTOM  OF  GATUN  LOCK 
V  THE  GUARD  GATE,  GATUN 

VI  APPROACHES  TO  GATUN  LOCK 

VII  END  OF  THE  DAY:  GATUN  LOCK 

VIII  THE  JUNGLE:  THE  OLD  RAILROAD  FROM  THE  NEW 

IX  THE  NATIVE  VILLAGE 

X  THE  AMERICAN  VILLAGE 

XI  THE  CUT  AT  BAS  OBISPO 

XII  IN  THE  CUT  AT  LAS  CASCADAS 

XIII  THE  CUT  FROM  CULEBRA 

XIV  STEAM  SHOVEL  AT  WORK  IN  THE  CULEBRA  CUT 
XV  THE  CUT:  LOOKING  TOWARD  CULEBRA 

XVI  THE  CUT  AT  PARAISO 

XVII  THE  CUT  LOOKING  TOWARD  ANCON  HILL 

XVIII  LAYING  THE  FLOOR  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL  LOCK 

XIX  THE  GATES  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL 

XX  THE  WALLS  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL 

XXI  BUILDING  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 

XXII  CRANES:  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 

XXIII  WALLS  OF  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 

XXIV  OFFICIAL  ANCON 
XXV  FROM  ANCON  HILL 

XXVI  THE  CATHEDRAL,  PANAMA 

XXVII  THE  CITY  OF  PANAMA  FROM  THE  TIVOLI  HOTEL,  ANCON 

XXVIII  THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  CANAL  FROM  THE  SEA 


I 

COLON:  THE  AMERICAN  QUARTER 


I    COLON:  THE  AMERICAN  QUARTER 


city  of  Colon  is  divided  into  two  quarters  —  the 
A  native,  or  Panamanian,  and  the  American.  The  former 
is  picturesque,  but  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Canal  and  is 
some  distance  from  it.  The  Canal  cannot  be  seen  from  the 
city.  The  American  quarter,  in  which  the  Canal  employees 
live,  stands  on  the  sea  shore,  and  is  made  up  of  bungalows, 
shops,  hotels,  hospitals  —  all  that  goes  to  make  up  a  city  — 
save  saloons.  All  are  built  of  wood,  painted  white,  and  com- 
pletely screened  with  wire  gauze,  rusted  black  by  the  damp- 
ness, a  protection  from  mosquitoes  and  other  beasts,  bugs 
and  vermin.  Raised  on  concrete  supports  mostly  with  long, 
gently  sloping  roofs,  and  buried  in  a  forest  of  palms,  the 
town,  the  first  the  visitor  will  see,  seems  absolutely  Jap- 
anese, is  very  pictorial  and  full  of  character.  The  design, 
I  believe,  of  the  houses  was  made  by  the  American  engineers 
or  architects. 

Very  few  of  the  higher  Canal  officers  live  at  Colon,  which 
is  the  Atlantic  seaport  of  the  Isthmus,  the  eastern  mouth 
of  the  Canal,  though  Colon  is  west  of  Panama  —  such  is  the 
geography  of  the  country. 

The  mouth  of  the  Canal  will  be  fortified;  breakwaters 
and  light-houses  are  being  built. 

For  authorities  on  fortification  it  may  be  interesting  to 
state  that  the  forts  will  be  so  situated  that  the  locks  will  be 
completely  out  of  range  of  an  enemy's  guns.  Personally  I 
am  not  a  believer  in  wars  or  navies.  If  my  theories  were 
practised  there  would  be  no  need  for  fortifications. 


II 

MOUNT  HOPE 


II    MOUNT  HOPE 

NEAR  Mount  Hope,  which — for  the  French — should  be 
called  the  Slough  of  Despond,  or  the  Lake  of  Despair, 
is  a  huge  swamp  about  a  mile  or  so  from  Colon,  on  the  left 
bank  of  the  French  Canal,  seen  on  the  right  of  the  litho- 
graph. This  swamp  is  now  filled  with  all  sorts  of  aban- 
doned French  machinery.  Dredges,  locomotives,  and  even 
what  seem  to  be  lock  gates,  show  amid  the  palms  in  the 
distance.  Huge  American  cranes  for  raising  this  French 
material — which  the  American  engineers  have  made  use 
of — and  discharging  cargo  from  the  ships  in  the  French 
Canal — which  is  here  finished  and  in  use — loom  over  the 
swamp,  the  banks  of  which  are  lined  with  piers  and 
workshops  full  of  life — a  curious  contrast  to  the  dead  swamp 
in  which  not  a  mosquito  lives,  nor  a  smell  breathes. 


•**  ? '      *  k f 


Ill 

GATUN:  DINNER  TIME 


Ill    GATUN:  DINNER  TIME 

BETWEEN  Mount  Hope  and  Gatun  is  much  more  of 
the  swamp  and  much  more  abandoned  machinery,  but 
the  Canal  is  not  to  be  seen  from  the  railroad,  or  any  evidence 
of  it,  till  the  train  stops  at  the  station  of  Old  Gatun,  with 
its  workmen's  dwellings  crowning  the  hillside.  I  regret  I 
made  no  drawing  of  these,  so  picturesquely  perched.  At 
the  station  of  Gatun — the  first  time  I  stopped — I  saw  the 
workmen — in  decorative  fashion — coming  to  the  surface 
for  dinner.  The  lithograph  was  made  from  a  temporary 
bridge  spanning  the  locks  and  looking  toward  Colon.  The 
great  machines  on  each  side  of  the  locks  are  for  mix- 
ing and  carrying  to  their  place,  in  huge  buckets,  the  cement 
and  concrete,  of  which  the  locks  are  built.  The  French 
Canal  is  in  the  extreme  distance,  now  used  by  our  engineers. 


IV 
AT  THE  BOTTOM  OF  GATUN  LOCK 


IV  AT  THE  BOTTOM  OF  GATUN  LOCK 

riHHERE  is  a  flight  of  three  double  locks  at  Gatun  by  which 
A  ships  will  be  raised  eighty-five  feet  to  the  level  of  Gatun 
Lake.  From  the  gates  of  the  upper  lock — the  nearest  to 
the  Pacific — they  will  sail  across  the  now-forming  lake 
some  miles  (about  twenty,  I  believe)  to  the  Culebra  Cut; 
through  this,  nine  miles  long,  they  will  pass,  and  then  de- 
scend by  three  other  flights  of  locks,  at  Pedro  Miguel  and 
Miraflores,  to  the  Pacific,  which  is  twenty  feet  higher,  I  be- 
lieve, than  the  Atlantic.  The  great  height,  eighty-five  feet, 
was  agreed  upon  so  as  to  save  excavation  in  the  Cut  and 
time  in  completion — one  of  those  magnificent  labor-saving 
devices  of  the  moment — which  I,  not  being  an  engineer,  see 
no  necessity  for — having  waited  four  hundred  years  for  the 
Canal,  we  might,  as  an  outsider,  it  seems  to  me,  have 
waited  four  more  years  and  got  rid  of  a  number  of  the  locks, 
even  if  it  cost  more  money. 

The  lithograph  made  in  the  middle  lock  shows  the  gates 
towering  on  either  side.  These  gates  were  covered,  when 
I  made  the  drawing,  with  their  armor  plates.  The  lower 
parts,  I  was  told,  are  to  be  filled  with  air,  and  the  gates, 
worked  by  electricity,  will  virtually  float.  The  scaffolding  is 
only  temporary,  and  so  is  the  opening  at  the  bottom  and  the 
railroad  tracks,  which  were  filled  up  and  discarded  while  I 
was  there.  So  huge  are  the  locks — the  three,  I  think,  a  mile 
long,  each  one  thousand  feet  between  the  gates,  and  about 
ninety  feet  deep — that,  until  the  men  knock  off,  there  scarce 
seems  anyone  around. 


V 
THE  GUARD  GATE,  GATUN 


V  THE  GUARD  GATE,  GATUN 

ri  THERE  is  a  safety  gate  in  each  lock,  to  protect,  in  case 
A  of  accident,  the  main  lock  gate,  just  suggested,  with 
the  figures  working  at  the  armor-plate  facing,  on  the  ex- 
treme right.  Beyond  are  the  outer  walls  and  approaches 
of  the  upper  lock,  and  beyond  these,  but  unseen,  the  lake. 
At  the  bottom  is  the  railroad  and  the  temporary  opening 
shown  in  the  previous  drawing.  The  scale,  the  immensity 
of  the  whole  may  be  judged  by  the  size  of  the  engines  and 
figures.  I  have  never  seen  such  a  magnificent  arrangement 
of  line,  light  and  mass,  and  yet  those  were  the  last  things 
the  engineers  thought  of.  But  great  work  is  great  art,  and 
always  was  and  will  be.  This  is  the  Wonder  of  Work. 


VI 
APPROACHES  TO  GATUN  LOCK 


VI    APPROACHES  TO  GATUN  LOCK 

THESE  huge  arches,  only  made  as  arches  to  save  con- 
crete and  to  break  the  waves  of  the  lake,  are  mightier 
than  any  Roman  aqueduct,  and  more  pictorial,  yet  soon  they 
will  be  hidden  almost  to  the  top  by  the  waters  of  the  lake. 
Electric  locomotives  will  run  out  to  the  farthest  point,  and 
from  it,  tow  the  ships  into  the  lock.  Beyond  is  Gatun  Lake, 
and  to  the  right  the  lines  of  the  French  Canal  and  Chagres 
River  stretch  to  the  horizon.  Even  while  I  was  on  the 
Isthmus  the  river  and  canal  disappeared  forever  before  the 
waters  of  the  rapidly  rising  flood.  All  evidence  of  the 
French  work  beyond  Gatun  has  vanished  under  water.  I 
did  not  draw  the  Dam  or  the  Spillway  simply  because  I 
could  not  find  a  subject  to  draw,  or  could  not  draw  it. 


VII 
END  OF  THE  DAY— GATUN  LOCK 


VII  END  OF  THE  DAY— GATUN  LOCK 

THIS   was   another   subject   I  saw  as  the  men  stopped 
work  in  the  evening.     On  the  left  is  the  stairway  which 
most  of  them  use,  and  on  both  sides  are  iron  ladders  which 
a  few  climb.      The  semicircular  openings  are  for  mooring 
the  ships. 


VIII 

THE  JUNGLE 
THE  OLD  RAILROAD  FROM  THE  NEW 


VIII    THE  JUNGLE 
THE  OLD  RAILROAD  FROM  THE  NEW 

WHILE  I  was  on  the  Isthmus  the  old  line  from  Gatun 
to  the  Culebra  Cut  at  Bas  Obispo  was  abandoned, 
owing  to  the  rising  waters  of  the  lake,  which  will  soon  cover 
towns,  and  swamps,  and  hills,  and  forests.  This  drawing 
was  made  looking  across  the  lake  near  Gatun,  with  the 
dam  in  the  distance,  and  I  have  tried  to  show  the  rich  riot 
of  the  jungle.  Below,  on  the  old  road,  is  a  steam  shovel 
digging  dirt.  The  little  islands,  charming  in  line,  are  little 
hills  still  showing  above  the  waters  of  the  forming  lake. 


IX 
THE  NATIVE  VILLAGE 


IX    THE  NATIVE  VILLAGE 

THIS  lithograph  was  made  on  the  new  line,  which  dis- 
covered to  the  visitor  primitive  Panama,  its  swamps, 
jungles  and  native  villages;  but,  owing  to  Colonel  Gorgas, 
native  no  longer,  as  they  are  odorless  and  clean;  but  the 
natives,  with  their  transformation,  seem  to  prefer  to  the  palm- 
leaf  roof,  corrugated  iron  and  tin,  and  abandoned  freight 
cars  to  live  in.  The  huts  are  mostly  built  on  piles  near  the 
rivers.  In  the  background  can  be  seen  the  strange-shaped 
mountains  and  strange-shaped  trees.  The  white  tree — I 
don't  know  its  name — with  the  bushy  top  has  no  bark, 
and  is  not  dead,  but  puts  out  leaves,  Mrs.  Colonel  Gaillard 
tells  me,  in  summer;  and  she  also  tells  me  the  jungle  is  full 
of  the  most  wonderful  orchids,  birds,  snakes,  monkeys  and 
natives,  and  offered  to  take  me  to  see  them.  I  saw  her 
splendid  collection  of  orchids  at  Culebra,  through  the 
luxuriance  of  which  Colonel  Gaillard  says  he  has  to  hew  his 
way  with  a  machete  every  morning  to  breakfast,  so  fast  do 
plants  grow  on  the  Isthmus.  Advantage  of  this  rapidity  of 
jungle  growth  has  been  taken  to  bind  together  the  com- 
pleted parts  of  the  surface  of  the  dam,  which  are  covered 
with  so  much  vegetation  that  I  could  not  tell  Nature's  work 
from  that  of  the  engineers. 


MNr 


X 

THE  AMERICAN  VILLAGE 


X    THE  AMERICAN  VILLAGE 

THESE  are  scattered  all  across  the  Continent,  hemmed  in 
by  the  tropical  jungle  or  placed  on  the  high,  cool 
hill.  In  all  there  is,  first,  the  news-stand  at  the  station: 
then,  the  hotel — really  restaurants — where  on  one  side  the 
Americans  "gold  employees"  dine  for  thirty  cents,  better  than 
they  could  for  a  dollar  at  home — and  more  decently ;  men, 
women  and  children.  On  the  other,  in  a  separate  building, 
usually,  the  "silver  employees"  foreigners;  and  there  are 
separate  dining  and  sleeping  places  and  cars  for  negroes, 
even  on  workmen's  trains.  The  Indian  has  the  sense 
and  pride  to  live  his  own  life  down  there,  apart,  as  at 
home  in  India.  There  are  many  in  the  Zone. 

The  head  men  in  each  of  these  towns  have  their  own 
houses;  the  lesser  lights  share  double  ones;  and  I  believe 
the  least  of  all,  bunks;  but  these  matters  didn't  interest 
me,  nor  did  sanitary  conditions  or  social  evils  or  advan- 
tages. 

There  are  also  clubs,  I  believe,  social  centres,  mothers' 
meetings,  churches,  art  galleries  and  museums  on  the 
Isthmus,  but  I  never  saw  them.  I  was  after  picturesque- 
ness.  Still,  it  is  no  wonder,  under  present  conditions,  that  I 
never  found  a  man  who  wanted  to  "go  home " — and  some 
hadn't  been  home  for  seven  years,  and  dreaded  going — 
and  rightly.  The  Canal  Zone  is  the  best  governed  section 
of  the  United  States. 


• 

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k   ^»)»      ,^>  .  •? 

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-*  ^^BBK^&IM  jfi »  SB 


XI 
THE  CUT  AT  BAS  OBISPO 


XI    THE  CUT  AT  BAS  OBISPO 

THE  Culebra  Cut  commences  near  Bas  Obispo — from 
this  place — where  the  Chagres  River  enters  Gatun  Lake, 
the  cut  extends  for  nine  miles,  to  Pedro  Miguel.  All  be- 
tween here  and  Gatun  will  be  under  water.  The  drawing 
was  made  at  the  bottom  of  the  cut,  and  the  various  levels 
on  which  the  excavations  are  made  may  be  seen.  The  dirt 
trains,  one  above  the  other,  are  loading  up  from  the  steam 
shovels  on  each  side  of  the  old  river  bed  in  the  centre.  The 
machinery  for  shifting  tracks  and  unloading  trains  is  won- 
derful, but  not  very  picturesque. 


. 


XII 
IN  THE  CUT  AT  LAS  CASCADAS 


XII    IN  THE  CUT  AT  LAS  CASCADAS 

r  I  THIS  drawing  shows  the  cut  and  gives  from  above  some 
-••  idea  of  the  different  levels  on  which  the  work  is  carried 
out.  It  is  on  some  of  these  levels  that  slides  have  occurred 
and  wrecked  the  work.  The  slides  move  slowly,  not  like 
avalanches,  but  have  caused  endless  complications;  but 
Colonel  Gaillard,  the  engineer  in  charge,  believes  he  will 
triumph  over  all  his  difficulties — which  include  even  a  small 
volcano — there  is  a  newspaper  story — but  no  earthquakes. 


XIII 
THE  CUT  FROM  CULEBRA 


XIII    THE  CUT  FROM  CULEBRA 

AT  this  point  the  cut  is  far  the  deepest  at  the  continental 
divide,  and  here  the  French  did  their  greatest  work,  and 
here  this  is  recorded  by  the  United  States  on  a  placque  high 
up  on  the  left-hand  bare  mountain  face  of  Gold  Hill.     The 
drawing  was  made  looking  towards  Pedro  Miguel. 


W^Wi^SSt 

f\^      V  :VN^8^™^^^^ 

;y  •;>,.>. -^-v  .,-.-.•• 

'•£&%'•  '^--A'^.-- 

WS^::- 


XIV 

STEAM  SHOVEL  AT  WORK  IN  THE 
CULEBRA  CUT 


XIV    STEAM  SHOVEL  AT  WORK  IN  THE  CULEBRA 

CUT 

THIS  beast,  as  they  say  down  there,  "can  pick  up 
anything  from  an  elephant  to  a  red-bug  " — the  smallest 
thing  on  the  Isthmus.  They  also  say  the  shovel  "  would 
look  just  like  Teddy  if  it  only  had  glasses."  It  does  the 
work  of  digging  the  Canal  and  filling  the  trains,  and  does  it 
amazingly — under  the  amazing  direction  of  its  amazing 
crews. 


XV 
THE  CUT— LOOKING  TOWARD  CULEBRA 


XV    THE  CUT— LOOKING  TOWARD  CULEBRA 

THIS  is  the  most  pictorial  as  well  as  the  most  profound 
part  of  the  cut.  Culebra,  the  town,  is  high  above — 
some  of  it  has  fallen  in — on  the  edge  in  the  distance — on 
the  left.  The  white  tower  is  an  observatory  from  near  which 
the  lithograph  No.  XIII  of  the  cut  was  made.  The  drawing 
is  looking  toward  the  Atlantic.  The  engineer  of  the  dirt 
train — the  smoke  of  which  is  so  black  because  the  engines 
burn  oil — climbed  up  to  see  what  I  was  at,  and  incidentally 
told  me  he  was  paid  $3,600  a  year,  had  a  house  free  and  two 
months'  holiday.  It  is  scarcely  wonderful  he  has  little  in- 
terest in  home,  but  the  greatest  pride  in  "  our  canal,"  and 
his  only  hope  was  to  be  "  kept  on  the  job  "  and  run  an 
electric  locomotive  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 


XVI 
THE  CUT  AT  PARAISO 


XVI    THE  CUT  AT  PARAISO 

AT  THIS  point  the  old  railroad  crosses  the  Canal  bed,  and 
there  is  a  splended  view  in  both  directions.  This  is 
looking  toward  the  same  mountains  as  in  the  previous 
drawing,  early  in  the  morning.  The  mountains  are  covered 
with  long  lines  of  mist,  under  which  nestles  the  American- 
Japanese  town  of  Paraiso.  The  new  line  of  railroad  never 
crosses  the  Canal,  but  passes  behind  the  mountain  on  the 
right.  The  scheme  of  having  it  follow  the  Canal  through 
Culebra  Cut  has  been  abandoned,  owing  to  the  slides. 


XVII 
THE  CUT  LOOKING  TOWARD  ANCONHILL 


XVII    THE  CUT  LOOKING  TOWARD  ANCON  HILL 

THIS  is  the  view  toward  the  Pacific  from  the  same  spot  in 
the  full   stress  of  work.      The  Pedro  Miguel  locks  are 
in  the  distance,  beyond  is  Ancon  Hill,  dominating  Panama, 
miles  farther  on;  and  to  the  right,  between  the  hills,  but 
miles  still  farther,  beyond  Miraflores  lock,  the  Pacific. 


XVIII    LAYING  THE  FLOOR  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL 

LOCK 

THIS  is  the  most  monumental  piece  of  work  on  the  Canal, 
and  the  most  pictorial.  The  huge  approaches,  quite 
different  in  form  from  Gatun — for  all  the  locks  have  char- 
acter, and  the  character  of  their  builders — are  only  arches 
to  save  concrete.  Here  were  men  enough  laying  the  con- 
crete floor — others  swarming  over  the  gates  not  yet  covered 
with  their  armor  plate.  Beyond  is  the  lock  just  shown  be- 
tween the  gates. 


XIX 
THE  GATES  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL 


XIX    THE  GATES  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL 

THIS  is  the  same  lock  nearer  the  gates,  and  shows  the 
great  length  of  it  from  gate  to  gate  and  something  of  its 
building  and  construction,  from  my  point  of  view. 


XX 

THE  WALLS  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL 


XX  THE  WALLS  OF  PEDRO  MIGUEL 

THIS  was  drawn  from  the  opposite  end  of  the  lock  and 
the  great  side  walls  topped  with  their  concrete-making 
crenellations  and  cranes  are  seen.  In  the  foreground,  on 
the  left,  is  one  of  the  side  openings  for  emptying  the  water 
from  one  lock  to  another — for  all  the  locks  are  double,  side 
by  side,  and  ships  will  not  have  to  wait  until  a  lock  is  empty, 
as  is  usual,  before  they  can  enter,  but,  as  one  empties,  the 
same  water  partly  fills  the  one  beside  it,  and  so  steamers  will 
pass  without  waiting.  Two  or  three  small  vessels  can  go 
through  at  the  same  time,  as  well  as  the  largest  with  room 
to  spare. 


XXI 

BUILDING  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 


XXI    BUILDING  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 


I^HIS  lock,  the  nearest  the  Pacific,  is  again  quite  different 
and  is  the  work  of  a  civil  engineer,  Mr.  Williamson, 
and  not  of  army  officers,  like  the  rest.  Between  the  two 
forces,  I  believe,  the  most  fierce  harmony  exists.  The  draw- 
ing shows  the  two  locks  side  by  side,  the  great  cranes  —  they 
are  different,  too  —  towering  above.  All  the  ground  here 
will  be  filled  by  a  small  lake  between  this  lock  and  Pedro 
Miguel. 


XXII 
CRANES— MIRAFLORES  LOCK 


XXII    CRANES—  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 


great  cranes  travel  to  and  fro,  and  as  I  drew  the 
J.  nearest  I  found  the  lines  changing,  but  thought  there 
was  something  wrong  with  me.  So  huge  were  they,  and  so 
silently  and  solemnly  did  they  move,  that  I  could  not  believe 
they  were  moving.  This  is  the  Pacific  end  of  the  lock  — 
the  last  on  the  Canal. 


:;    - 


XXIII 
WALLS  OF  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 


XXIII    WALLS  OF  MIRAFLORES  LOCK 

THE  only  wall  in  March  of  the  approach  to  Miraflores 
may  be  contrasted  with  the  similar  subject  No.  XX — 
Pedro  Miguel. 

Much  as  there  was  to  be  done  in  March,  the  engineer, 
Mr.  Williamson,  had  no  doubt  it  would  be  finished  this 
fall;  for  as  fast  as  the  other  locks  were  completed,  men 
and  machines  were  to  be  put  on  this. 


XXIV    OFFICIAL  ANCON 

A^lID  these  royal  palm  groves  work  and  live  many  of  the 
members  of  the  Isthmian  Canal  Commission — the  rest 
are  on  the  high  hill  at  Culebra.     To  the  secretary,  Mr.  J.  B. 
Bishop,  and  to  his  family,  I  am  endlessly  indebted  for  end- 
less help  while  on  the  Zone. 

Ancon  is  a  perfect  Japanese  town — built  by  Americans 
— and  the  interiors  of  the  houses  here  and  at  Culebra  are 
as  delightful  as  their  owners  are  charming — and  I  know  of 
what  I  speak.  The  large  building  against  the  ocean  is  the 
Administration  Office  of  the  Isthmian  Canal  Commission. 


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XXV 
FROM  ANCON  HILL 


XXV    FROM  ANCON  HILL 

A  ROAD  winds  up  Ancon  Hill,  passing  the  official  resi- 
dences and  the  hospitals,  finally  reaching  a  terrace 
bordered  with  royal  palms.  Below  to  the  left  is  the  Tivoli 
Hotel,  and  still  lower  and  farther  away,  the  city,  while  the 
Pacific  fills  the  distance.  This  is  the  most  beautiful  spot  I 
saw  on  the  Isthmus. 


XXVI 
THE  CATHEDRAL,  PANAMA 


XXVI    THE  CATHEDRAL,  PANAMA 

THE  Cathedral,  one  of  a  number  of  churches  in  the  city 
of  Panama,  stands  in  a  large  square.     The  feeling  of  all 
these,  with  their  richly  decorated  facades  and  long,  unbroken 
side  walls,  is  absolutely  Spanish — but  the  interiors  are  far 
more  bare — much  more  like  Italian  churches. 


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XXVII 

THE  CITY  OF  PANAMA 
FROM  THE  TIVOLI  HOTEL,  ANCON 


XXVII    THE.  CITY  OF  PANAMA 
FROM  THE  TIVOLI  HOTEL,  ANCON 

FROM  the  wing  of  the  Government  hotel  in  which  I 
stayed  I  looked  out  over  the  city  of  Panama  to  the  Pacific. 
If  this  city  were  in  Spain,  or  if  even  a  decent  description 
of  it  were  in  a  European  guide-book,  the  hordes  of  Ameri- 
cans who  go  to  the  Canal  would  rave  over  it.  As  it  is,  not 
many  of  them  (not  being  told)  ever  see  it,  though  there 
are  few  towns  in  Europe  with  more  character.  But  I 
regret  to  say  my  countrymen  don't  know  what  they  are 
looking  at,  or  what  to  look  at,  till  they  have  a  guide-book, 
courier  or  tout  to  tell  them.  The  Government  provides, 
I  am  told,  a  Harvard  graduate  to  perform  the  latter 
function,  and  sends  out  daily  an  observation  car  across  the 
Continent. 

The  two  strange,  flat-topped  mountains,  miles  out  at  sea, 
are  to  be  fortified,  and  they  are  so  far  from  shore,  and 
the  locks  so  far  inland,  as  to  be  out  of  range — as  well  as  out 
of  sight—of  modern  guns  and  gunners. 


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XXVIII 

THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  CANAL  FROM 

THE  SEA 


THIS  drawing  was  made  from  the  channel  which  leads 
out  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  The  mouth  of  the  Canal  is 
on  the  left  in  the  flat  space  between  the  mountains;  on  the 
right  of  this,  the  dark  mass  on  the  edge  of  the  water  is  the 
docks  and  harbors;  then  comes  the  great,  towering  Ancon 
Hill,  one  side  all  dug  out  in  terraces  for  dirt,  much  of  which 
goes  to  fill  in  the  outside  of  locks,  which,  however,  will  work 
before  they  are  filled  in.  And  for  what  other  purposes  the 
War  Department  are  going  to  use  this  Gibraltar  they  alone 
know.  The  other  side,  a  mass  of  palms  shelters  the  houses 
of  the  officials,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  to  the  right,  Pan- 
ama— as  beautiful  as  Naples  or  Tangier,  yet  hardly  a  tourist 
knows  it;  and — well,  the  Government  is  not  running  a  tourist 
agency. 

The  breakwater,  which  will  connect  the  fortified  islands 
miles  away  with  the  mainland,  is  just  started  in  the  centre. 
This  is  the  first  and  last  view  of  Panama — and  of  the  great- 
est work  of  modern  times,  the  work  of  the  greatest  engineers 
of  all  time.  JOSEPH  PENNELL 


